


Up, Up, And Away!

by firenewt



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Humor, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:52:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: Tseng doesn't see the need for Casual Day. The Turks decide to change his mind.





	Up, Up, And Away!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Turk Week 2018, Day 6. The prompt was "casual day".
> 
> I borrowed the tune of "Kyrie" by Mr. Mister for the Turk's little song.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclainer: Thanks to Square Enix for letting me play in their world.

“He said no.” Katana faced the others gathered in the Turk lounge. 

There was a collective groaning sigh. As one of the senior Turks, respected and in general more serious in demeanor than some of the others, he had been elected to go speak to Tseng. But it seemed that even his powers of logic and persuasion had failed. 

“He needs a day off!”

“He’s gonna go stark ravin’ mad”

“He’s such a workaholic.”

“He’s gonna go postal!”

“He thinks the company will fall apart if he isn’t here every day.”

“He doesn’t trust us to function without him!”

“He’s got a few screws loose, he does.”

“He don’t know the meaning of the word ‘casual’.”

The comments flew, some muttered and some spoken more loudly. There was a general sense of frustration and helplessness. 

Everyone looked forward to Casual Day. Initially there had been a push for having it once a week, like most departments, but Tseng had put the kibosh on that. The compromise was once a month, with professional appearance and decorum to be maintained the rest of the time. As long as their performance wasn’t affected (which it never had been), then he gritted his teeth and tolerated Cissnei wearing one of her belly dancing scarves with the tiny bells tied around her hips over her uniform. And Rude bringing in a karaoke machine. And Rod and Nunchaku making their offices into opposing castles and having sword fights in the hallway. And Shotgun, Maur and both Martial Arts turning the entire area into a The Floor Is Lava zone. 

But he just didn’t feel the need to participate. His solace and peace came from order and routine and maintaining control. If he wasn’t present, then he felt that control slipping. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the others to get the job done and keep things running smoothly, it was just that he trusted himself more.

“I tried every argument.” Katana spread his hands and shook his head. “He’s just tied to that desk of his. Sorry.”

Cissnei and Rude looked at each other, and then at Reno. “Caucus,” said Rude, and they slipped out while the others continued their griping and didn’t notice them leave.

The next scheduled Casual Day rolled around. Tseng sighed as he got off the elevator at his usual early hour. He planned to pick up a mug of tea from the urn in the lounge and then get an early start on his paperwork…before the karaoke started and it became impossible to even hear his own thoughts.

As he entered the lounge, he was suddenly wrapped in a bear hug from behind. Taken totally by surprise, he managed a startled “What…” before the rest of the Turks materialized and converged on him in a flock. They knew that Tseng would be incredibly difficult to subdue for one, or two, or even three of them alone, so they put the T into Teamwork and worked Together. 

In short order they had their dear leader firmly tied and gagged and blind-folded. Hoisting him above their heads, they carried him in processional through the halls and up to the landing platform. As they went they enthusiastically sang a cappella, to the tune of the classic ‘Kyrie’: 

~ The wind blows hard against this tower side, across the Waste into our souls  
It reaches into where we cannot hide, setting our feet upon this road  
Our hearts are young, they hold our memories, our bodies burn with Goddess flame  
Somewhere between the mako and machines, is where we find ourselves again!  
Carrying our leader, down this road that he must travel!  
Carrying our leader, in the brightness of the daaaay!  
Carrying our leader, where he’s going we won’t follow!  
Carrying our leader, so he cannot tell us nay! ~

Tseng squirmed hard, especially when they started singing, but to no avail. When they left the building, he felt cool air on his face, and heard a great wooshing sound that started and stopped abruptly. He thought he could also hear a faint flapping, but he wasn’t sure. He smelled fuel fumes and grease and was very sure they were on the helo pad. He felt a twinge of alarm. Were his comrades about to throw him off the tower? Was this some sort of twisted coup? Had Hojo infiltrated and subverted the Turk ranks and convinced them to perform a sacrifice?

Tseng felt many hands take hold of him and he was slowly lowered; there was a dry rustling as he was deposited on a firm surface....rather gently, he noted with relief. The whooshing blast came again, much louder this time. In fact, it sounded like it was right above him. The surface he was resting on rocked a bit, then a bit more, and then he was bumped up and down a couple of times before the motion smoothed out. Then his stomach suddenly dropped, as if he was in an elevator that had gone into freefall. 

He could hear the Turks cheering and yelling. “Bye, sir!” “Good-bye!” “Have a good trip!” “We love you!”

Their voices slowly faded away.

Far below, the Turks gathered on the landing platform and shaded their eyes as they looked up, waving even though Tseng couldn’t see them. The rainbow-striped balloon rose higher and higher into the morning sky, drifting with the prevailing wind toward Kalm. 

When it was well on its way to being a dot on the horizon, they coiled the ropes that had tethered the balloon to the platform and put away the gas cylinders, before heading back inside to enjoy their own free day. And to get their work done, of course.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” Gun asked, a bit worried.

“’Course,” Reno reassured her. “He’ll be outta those ropes lickity-split, yo.”

“And he’s got everything he needs in there with him,” Cissnei added. “I even packed him nice picnic.”

“Everything except his desk,” Katana agreed.

“Had to be done,” Rude said stoically. “It’s our duty to protect the company, after all.”

“How long do you think it will take him to get back?” 

“I bet he’ll come riding in on a stolen chocobo first thing in the morning.”

“He hates chocobos.” 

“Well, a stolen something. Whatever he can find where he lands.”

“I hope he goes all the way to Kalm and beyond. He could use a few days off.”

When Veld wandered into the lounge later that day, looking for his second in command, he was startled at the relative bacchanal taking place. The karaoke machine was blasting; someone had ordered a giant cheese and fruit tray and a case of non-alcoholic spritzers; and Gun and Knife had taken their shoes off and were having a tegumi competition in the middle of the room.

“Where’s Tseng? He’s not in his office!” he yelled in Reno’s ear, trying to be heard over Rude’s off-key and very loud rendition of “Land Down Under”…appropriately by Men at Work.

Reno just pointed to the ceiling and grinned. 

Veld spent the next two hours looking for Tseng on the floors above, with no luck. And when Tseng did indeed come riding up to the tower on a stolen chocobo several days later, looking rather the worse for wear but with a Kalm….er, calm about him, Veld considered if he really needed to know where he had been or if some things were best left unsaid. 

He decided on the latter, but when the pictures of a bound figure being carried aloft by the entire cadre of Turks; and being lowered into the basket of a huge hot air balloon; and being sent off with great fanfare started circulating on the company network, he immediately downloaded them to his private file for permanent enjoyment. And later he denied knowing anything about the poster-sized photo of a dusty and disheveled Tseng sitting on a chocobo in the street outside HQ that appeared on the wall in the Executive Boardroom, right next to the portrait of President Shinra. 

However, he did notice, as did they all, that henceforth Tseng seemed much less uptight about Casual Day, and was even seen to occasionally appear on such days without his tie.


End file.
